The unfamiliar picture of a person I (don't) know...
I had supervision at Girton this morning and as I was walking to the Plodge, sunlight through stained glass caught on a picture on the wall and I stopped to look. The corridor was lined with photographic portraits of eminent Girtonians - and the one I was beholding was Miss Alison Duke. It was a photograph of her as an elderly woman, gentle, smiling benignly. The Alison Duke I know is young, and lively - slender, bespectacled, and in the photos I have seen, looking a little uncertain. I know she was an old woman all the time I was alive, but it was still a little strange to see THAT picture of her. I wonder if the Girton students, wandering past her umpteen times, ever stop to think of who she used to be before she became that comfortable-looking elderly lady, caught in a shaft of colour-filtered sunlight?
Such tranquil reflections apart, however, today was clearly some kind of convention for lunatic bus drivers. The driver of the number 5 bus told me that I needed the number 6 bus (he clearly didn't like the look of me) and then the driver of the number 6 bus didn't let me off until we were almost in Girton Village, so I had to dash back to the college & go in the back way & then trail round (seemingly endless) corridors (which were VERY poorly signposted, might I just add) and indeed ask directions from a passing bloke and then ended up in a strangely murky-pink bit of corridor, waiting for 10 o'clock.
Supervision itself was actually not too bad... My supervisor seemed a bit confused that I'd a) never done political thought and b) never covered the period in question but it was all okay. My essay for next week is on masculinity & I am slightly worried about managing to balance my time between that and my presentation, but I am sure I'll think of something. Possibly delegating one project to the Giraffe.
Bus journey back was with ANOTHER bonkers driver. This one had a BROAD Yorkshire accent and was deaf. It was a splendid combination. Yes.
Plan for the rest of the day = procrastinate; lunch; laundry; reading; Brownies; reading; sleep... The excitment...
Such tranquil reflections apart, however, today was clearly some kind of convention for lunatic bus drivers. The driver of the number 5 bus told me that I needed the number 6 bus (he clearly didn't like the look of me) and then the driver of the number 6 bus didn't let me off until we were almost in Girton Village, so I had to dash back to the college & go in the back way & then trail round (seemingly endless) corridors (which were VERY poorly signposted, might I just add) and indeed ask directions from a passing bloke and then ended up in a strangely murky-pink bit of corridor, waiting for 10 o'clock.
Supervision itself was actually not too bad... My supervisor seemed a bit confused that I'd a) never done political thought and b) never covered the period in question but it was all okay. My essay for next week is on masculinity & I am slightly worried about managing to balance my time between that and my presentation, but I am sure I'll think of something. Possibly delegating one project to the Giraffe.
Bus journey back was with ANOTHER bonkers driver. This one had a BROAD Yorkshire accent and was deaf. It was a splendid combination. Yes.
Plan for the rest of the day = procrastinate; lunch; laundry; reading; Brownies; reading; sleep... The excitment...